Josh’s letters had revealed a charming, thoughtful man who dearly loved his family and home.
“Thanks to your detailed descriptions, I feel as though I’ve been here before,” Kate said without thinking.
He stopped. His expression hardening as he faced her, his blue eyes cooled to arctic ice. “You read my letters?”
“I … we …” she sputtered. “Well, y-yes, my sister read them aloud.” Mortified at her slip, Kate lowered her gaze to the ground.
“Those were my private thoughts, intended for Francesca and no one else.”
“I am truly sorry,” she murmured, “for everything. Perhaps it would be best if I left.”
“Forget it.”
Her gaze flew up and locked with his. “But I’ve hurt you. I deeply regret—”
“You’ve done nothing to injure me. After all, I met you all of twenty minutes ago. It’s becoming quite clear your sister did not hold me in the same regard as I did her.”
The Bridal Swap
Karen Kirst
I have swept away your offenses like a cloud,
your sins like the morning mist. Return to me,
for I have redeemed you.
—Isaiah 44:22
For Jacob.
Your dad and I are so proud of the thoughtful,
caring young man you’ve become.
Just remember to keep God first in your life.
I love you!
Chapter One
Gatlinburg, Tennessee September 1880
Josh O’Malley’s life was about to change. Standing on the boardwalk in front of Clawson’s Mercantile, a bouquet of wildflowers in his hand, he watched intently as the carriage rolled to a stop. The team of midnight-black horses snuffed and tossed their heads, their massive chests quivering with exertion. The driver, dripping sweat and wearing an inch-thick coating of dust, remained seated while a second, well-dressed man climbed down with haste and swept open the door as if royalty waited inside.
Time stood still. The sounds of the town—snatches of conversations, the bell above the mercantile’s entrance, wagons lumbering past—all faded as he waited for a glimpse of his fiancée, Francesca Morgan. Six long months had passed since he’d last seen her.
Anticipation swelled within him like the Little Pigeon River after a heavy downpour. His fingers tightened on the stems. Would she like it here? Not for the first time, doubts flickered in his mind. How would this oil heiress from New York City adjust to his small town, tucked deep in the Smoky Mountains?
He shoved such thoughts aside. Together they would deal with any hurdles.
Then she was there, in the doorway, placing her gloved hand in the man’s and floating down the steps in a cloud of seafoam green. All he could see was the top of her fancy hat. This was the first day of their lives together.
“Hello, Francesca.”
Her head whipped up, and he found himself staring into a stranger’s face.
“Pardon me, Miss.” Josh retreated a step. He glanced around her to find the carriage interior empty. Confused, he looked at her once more. “Excuse me, I was under the impression this was the Morgan carriage.”
The young lady’s eyes flared wide as if she recognized him. But that was impossible.
With a slight incline of her head, she dismissed the man at her side. “Thank you, Mr. Crandall.” Her eyes held a mix of compassion and apprehension.
“Mr. Joshua O’Malley?”
His gut clenched. She couldn’t know his name unless … “Yes, that’s me.”
“My name is Katerina Morgan. I’m Francesca’s younger sister.”
Sister? Surely not. This lady and his fiancée looked nothing alike.
Francesca was tall, lithe and graceful, her peaches-and-cream complexion the perfect foil for her corn-silk hair and baby-blue eyes. The young lady standing before him was altogether different. Petite and fine-boned, yet in possession of captivating curves, the top of her head barely grazed his chin.
Katerina was a delicate lady … like a doll come to life. Her face was a perfect oval, with rounded cheekbones and dainty chin. Her almond-shaped eyes shone the same hue as her pale green dress, and her pouty, pink lips could’ve been sculpted by an artist. Her hair was the color of decadent chocolate and arranged in elaborate twists and curls.
“Where is Francesca? Has something happened?”
“Please—is there somewhere we can speak in private?”
Curious townsfolk had stopped to watch their exchange. Gatlinburg was a small town, and most knew his fiancée was arriving today.
“Over here.”
They would be out of sight behind the mercantile. Taking gentle hold of her arm, he helped her across the grass and caught a whiff of her perfume, a subtle scent with notes of citrus. Like her elegant outfit, it was most likely the latest fashion from Paris. And worth more money than he’d see in a lifetime.
“What lush beauty.” Her steps faltered. “Why, I doubt I’ve ever seen its equal. You are fortunate, Mr. O’Malley, to wake up to this day after day.”
He followed her uplifted gaze to the rounded mountain peaks on all sides, the clear blue sky a perfect backdrop against the autumn foliage visible even at the higher elevations. He understood her reaction. Most newcomers agreed this part of East Tennessee was a tiny slice of paradise.
“I can’t imagine living anywhere else,” he murmured.
The hushed hum of rushing water met his ears as they neared the bank’s edge. Releasing her arm, he warned, “Mind your step. There’s a steep drop-off.” About ten feet below, the water’s surface reflected the trees’ changing colors—dusky green with patches of red and orange.
“It’s lovely,” she breathed.
Enough small talk. “Why isn’t Francesca here?” Instead of you?
She faced him, shoulders squared and hands clasped at her slim waist. “I’m afraid I have unsettling news.” She paused, clearly uneasy. “Francesca has married another man.”
Married?
